Rinse and Repeat
by Feather Ice
Summary: There's no better way to hide a secret than in the middle of a familiar, mundane routine. And as long as McCoy can keep Kirk from breaking it, nothing will have to change.


Points of Interest: CONTROVERSIAL PAIRING, at least for me. I'm already kind of resigned to one pairing in this series, and this... isn't it... Ah well, I enjoyed writing it. Contains slash, if the CONTROVERSIAL thing didn't clue you in. Also contains copious amounts of angst and alcoholism. Do your best to ignore both.

Rinse and Repeat

Amber sloshed in the glasses, thumped down simultaneously against the splintered wood. Jim got to his first, bashed it messily against mine, and then winked. I rolled my eyes, throwing my glass back, and Jim had to scramble to keep up. When the glasses were empty, we raced to bang them down, but the containers hit the table at exactly the same time like they always did; almost one sound. We glared at each other, and if we noticed the weird energy in the air and the way we both moved slightly (I shift away; Jim slid forward), neither of us said anything. The bartender shook his shaggy head at the two of us and brought out some more—beer, whiskey, I wasn't even sure anymore. Rinse and repeat. Rinse with alcohol. Rinse until every thought is washed clean away.

"Y'know," Jim remarked in a voice not quite slurred enough to pass for honestly drunk, but lazy enough to ensure his saying something stupid and potentially awkward. "Whenever we goof off together, Bones, we go to a bar."

_Never the same bar either,_ I thought. _ But that's what comes of living on a starship. You don't go there to settle down in one place and memorize the menu of each greasy little restaurant. Thank God._

"And you haven't gotten any better at holding your liquor," I informed him smartly, shaking my head at the tragic fact. Jim laughed too, then slowly frowned, either confused, annoyed, or about to pass out.

"But we always go to a bar or just drink out of your stash…" I could see gears turning in his head. I glared. Stop it. It's not important. Just wash it away. "We always get drunk. Why is that?" His eyes were wide and lucid, like he'd just discovered some new secret of the universe. I snorted, setting down my glass and waving the bartender off when he approached. I needed a minute to catch my breath. Really, if I was going to have to think of bullshit excuses, it would be nice to remember what the bullshit was. Temporarily.

"There's always medical exams, if you want" I told him, pretending to jab a hypo into his neck. Jim tried to dodge it, and nearly fell out of his seat. I hauled him back up, scowling as I shoved him towards the bar. He grinned at me like I'd done something wonderful. I released his arm as surreptitiously as possible, as though I hadn't grabbed onto it. "And the last time I checked, you liked bars."

Jim nodded eagerly, a euphoric smile drifting onto his face as some girl in a skirt that resembled Swiss cheese glided down the bar. "_Yeah_... Yeah I do."

I gave the girl a once over myself. Unimpressed, I raised my eyebrows at him. "Well, sadly, that's about all we have in common."

"That's not true," Jim protested, only to be distracted by another pretty face. I signaled the barman for another drink. He wasn't going to try to think for a little while. Once Jim's hormones are activated, all that gray matter Starfleet is so proud of oozes out his ears.

"Sure it is." I told him, and he threw a distracted look my way. He'd probably forgotten what we were talking about already. I defended myself anyway. "Think about it. You like shooting people. I like putting them back together. You like girls like her," I nodded in the direction of a piece of ass that was now thoroughly occupying my captain's short attention span. "I like girls like her," I nodded to a newcomer just behind Jim, the typical girl next door. "You like red, I like blue. See where I'm going with this?"

"Got it," Jim said, looking sour now. "But what about Spock?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"Well, you seem to think he's great, and I think he's a bastard. What do you think?"

"I think it's a… wassit… Ambivalent. Ambivalent emotions." He smirked proudly as I wracked my protesting brain for the definition. So much for hormones. Times like these I'm forced to remember that despite his age and general impression of idiocy, Jim is actually something of a genius. Fortunately, I used my superior grasp of common sense (and alcohol tolerance) to change the subject.

"Well, then where the hell would you rather go?" I asked, thumping my glass down and smirking a bit because he was a glass behind me. "If it's clubs, they've got bars too. Guess where you'll find me?"

"So you just like drinking?" Jim asked, and I winced as he looked over at me. His eyes glittered. I hate it when he gets speculative. He was ignoring the whole point. I busied myself with my drink, shrugging.

"Sure. Besides, I figure—the wife owns my liver. Might as well ruin it for her, right?"

Jim stiffened slightly at the unexpected mention, and his smile faded somewhat. "I guess."

"I guess," I echoed, glancing out over tonight's crowd, my gaze inevitably drawn back to Jim. He didn't seem to notice me looking.

My usual attraction to him morphed into something that was more like… aesthetic appreciation when I got drunk. A very, very fixated aesthetic appreciation. He sort of glowed and blurred around the edges until I was looking at something angelic, something I couldn't touch. Why did I always want to go drinking? That was probably why. Just my shit luck—I get out of a terrible marriage with nothing left and immediately fall for someone about half my age and twice as stupid, in his own special ways. I'd mention the obvious bit—that he's a **guy**—but that would just be redundant. I find other details more pressing.

My jaw tightened, a particularly stubborn stain on my memories cutting through the haze. The latest fiasco my friend had gotten himself caught up in—his latest attempt to get his head blown off. He has all the diplomatic skill of an incensed Klingon and the self-preservation instinct of a squirrel. And he bleeds like a stuck pig. I'd been so sure he was dead for good this time, but he'd pulled through the usual way, laughing off everyone's concern the minute he was conscious. He's going to get himself offed someday soon, I'm sure of it. Everyone is. Even the Vulcan gets it, and he's usually thick as a rock about these things.

I shook my head, trying to ward away the unwanted coherency. I didn't want to think about this. Any of it. Couldn't it just go away?

"Yo, Bones," Jim was looking at me now, a question in his blurred eyes. I realized I'd been staring, but under the unexpected gaze, I could only blink back stupidly. Jim's eyes darkened marginally and he inched closer, something on his lips, but I refused to hear it. One of us has to have some sense, right? Besides, he was drunk. I could feel him frowning next to me as I returned to my drink. "Bones…"

"What?" My voice felt completely detached from the rest of me. My head was spinning, which was a relief. I couldn't concentrate on anything. I reached for my drink, and yanked my hand back quickly because Jim's fingers were already warm around it. I scowled at him, pretending to be angry about the drink, but we both knew exactly what was pissing me off, and all too well. "Hey—that one was _mine_."

"Sorry," he smiled brainlessly, chugging half the contents of the glass in spite of my protest. "Thought it was mine."

I pursed my lips, working hard to continue looking annoyed under those sparkling, knowing blue eyes and the tug of delirium. "Guess it is," I said, and I knew it was. Seriously, that's just my luck. I finally get free of one person, barely, and wind up completely owned by the next. Jim's a disaster magnet in his special, hands-on way, but so am I. Again it occurred to me that the eye contact was lingering too long, and I tore my eyes away, feeling stupid. Apparently Jim wasn't having it this time, because he latched onto my wrist with his free hand.

"Bones—"

My throat didn't quite close up and my heart had long since ceased to beat frantically whenever he said my name. My chest just sort of ached, dragging my head down against the table. The spinning had ceased to be a pleasant sensation.

"Let's just go, Jim," I suggested. "I'm not in much of a drinking mood."

"Want to just talk?" He asked with an edge in his voice, and I shook my head, very careful not to look at him.

"I'm pretty beat. Long week. I think I'll just get on to bed." I slipped out of my seat and waited for Jim to join me, and he did, after draining both of our glasses and slapping down the credits. It was his turn. He pretended to have misjudged the distance, pretended that this was the reason he was pressed against me, hot, ragged breath over my ear. He didn't do a very good job. He'd tired of it all too. At some point this really begged the question of why one of us didn't give up the ghost. Say it, end it, forget it, a part of me whispered. Get it over with.

Except saying it only set the stains in more.

"I can help with that," he whispered, hoarse voice dragging in my ears. "I don't think I've ever… seen your quarters anyway…" I shuddered as his cheek brushed mine, warm and wanted, but I just shoved him away. I scowled, and very pointedly did not look in his eyes.

"You're drunk," I accused, disentangling myself from an embrace I hadn't realized I was wrapped in. "We're going back."

"Why?" Jim demanded with a puerile frown. I tried not to smile to obviously.

"Because Spock will kill you, and I'm not giving you a hangover remedy tomorrow." At once, the seductive, predatory stance vanished and Jim was left looking like he'd been doused in cold water

"That's so cruel."

"I'm gonna need it all for myself," I declared, tapping my skull. Yeah, that was it. Let's just write this off as another drunken episode. Wasn't that what this was for, way back when it all started? Jim protested something behind me, and I laughed, already moving towards the door, and trying not to flinch too obviously when he seized my hand, smaller, harder fingers winding through my own. I made myself swallow and just keep moving, like I was dragging out a drunk friend, not being sexually harassed by one who was entirely too sober. And too… well, just too Jim for me to turn around and make him let go. I didn't think I could if I tried.

But I won't touch him. He's not like me—Jim is young and wild and full of dreams and potential. The only thing I'm going to do is drain that all away. I know where I'm going and I'm not dragging him with me. I don't date kids. I was his roommate and I was pretty used to sneaking into the library after hours by the second week of it, just to get away from the noise. I wouldn't call Jim innocent, but he's childish, and he has the sort of belief in good and evil that lends itself to enjoying life for a very long time. What was I? A dried-out, jaded cynic? At the very least, _I knew better_.

If he dies, it'll kill me. And if by some divine miracle he lives, I'll kill him.

I won't touch him. I swore I never would. And it wasn't a big deal until my stupid crush—well, after two years, can it really be considered that?—was reciprocated. For whatever reason, Jim decided he liked me, and had to make everything complicated. Ignoring feelings? No sweat. Ignoring them when the person they're for does everything in his power to make me show them? Considerably more difficult.

Take now, for instance. The shuttlecraft had to be just ten feet away and it was cold and there was no reason to be standing where we were, but neither of us moved. Once more Jim was looking at me, and just those heated, intense eyes were enough to lock me in place. The alcohol didn't seem to be working as well as usual. I tried to tell him off without saying anything, and I think he got the message I was trying to send. Unfortunately, the end result of that was for his eyes to get really stubborn. I willed him back, but he took three deliberate steps until he was standing directly in front of me, looking right into my eyes.

"Well, if I'm drunk…" He shrugged, trying to sound lighthearted, but it just came out bitter. He leaned close, much, much closer than a friend does, breath pulling on my mouth, and I couldn't stop myself from closing the final distance. I pulled back as quickly as I'd moved, our lips barely having brushed, and my chest had started to burn. At once he was glaring, and his hands closed over my biceps. I let him, and just glared half-heartedly back. If he wanted to force me into something, I could hold my own, by God!

But he didn't punch me or shout or do anything in the usual Jim fashion. Instead his eyes, angry and frustrated and all too serious, locked my legs in place and he just asked, sounding tired himself now, "_Why_?"

My hand rose without asking my permission, trailing down his face, and I watch Jim's face change slowly from frustration into a sort of acrid pain. My chest started to burn again, but guilt overpowered it, and I ended my ministration, dropping my hand hard against my leg and burying my fingers in the fabric there. He opened his mouth as soon as I did, but it snapped closed as I ruffled his hair fiercely and totally ruined the moment. "Agh—ow—**Bones**!"

"I don't date kids," I declared imperiously, and watched his jaw drop with satisfaction.

"You don't—what?!"

I laughed, and went strolling back to the shuttlecraft, letting the alcohol take over. It was considerably easier like this. Just friends—complicated and argumentative and clueless about feelings. Fighting in a world of good and evil. One of us was considerably more idealistic than the other, now that I thought about it. I suppressed a smile, setting the machine on auto to our hotel.

"What's so funny?" Jim asked, genuinely curious. I aimed a wry smile at him.

"And you don't either."

"Don't what?" He demanded. "Dammit, Bones, don't get me buzzed and then not make sense!"

"You don't date kids," I explained, and watched his eyebrows go up.

"Bones? Are you feeling OK?"

"Nah," I sighed happily, feeling like everything was alright for a while. "I shouldn't be driving, just so you know."

"I like the bars," Jim said, ignoring my statement. I happened to catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, and nearly driving over a curb dragged me back from them and the heated challenge sparking in them. I quickly pulled my hands off the manual. "We should go again soon."

Why was my mouth so dry all of a sudden? I coughed. "Yeah. Sure."

Rinse and repeat.


End file.
